Parading

let it show you how

Unless to you, to whom should I praise love?

Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.

I hear something coming,

Let the heart’s pain slack off

The arctic blasts say fight.

Sun makes the day new.

Rilke wrote, “That I gently wipe away the look of suffered injustice sometimes hinders the pure motion of spirits a little.”

I’ve oft returned to this thought,

I would love to live